


While the Coffee Brews

by Alexander_L



Series: You and I and the stories we tell – A collection of Ferdinand/Hubert oneshots [11]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Soft Ferdinand von Aegir, Soft Hubert von Vestra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25538920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_L/pseuds/Alexander_L
Summary: Hubert has always gotten away with not dancing at balls, for no one expects him to do anything other than stand in the corner and look foreboding. But now he wants desperately to not disappoint Ferdinand and asks Dorothea for help in learning how to dance.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: You and I and the stories we tell – A collection of Ferdinand/Hubert oneshots [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794589
Comments: 19
Kudos: 78





	While the Coffee Brews

**Author's Note:**

> Ok I was just writing the last few lines of this and then Robbie & Billy dropped the cover of For Good and I fucking lost it, guys. I was crying over my coffee. So if your heart is very full like mine is right now, maybe this little bit of sickeningly sweet fluff will keep the warm happy feels going.
> 
> Shout out to Red Lurker on Twitter who suggested ballroom dancing! I've been writing a lot of angst and something truly domestic and fluffy was so calming and refreshing to write. Thanks for the prompt!
> 
> Also shout out to SIGF on ao3 who wrote one of the best Ferdibert series I've read and has a far better Ferdibert brunch scene in The Husband that y'all should go read (although y'all probably already have because let's be real; it's a classic already).

### Hubert

  
  


“You cannot be serious,” I insist, pausing with my cup of coffee an inch from my lips.

Edelgard looks up from spreading strawberry preserves on a scone to smile at me teasingly. “Surely as one of Adrestria’s Two Jewels you can’t expect to avoid society forever.”

Dorothea, who is staring with tipsy mesmerization at the sparkling bubbles in her champagne flute, laughs quietly to herself and mumbles something about _‘Adrestria’s Two Fools.’_ I make a mental note to remove her from our tab and make her pay for her own food and the endless amount of liquor she has drunk for absolutely no occasion other than _‘it’s brunch,’_ whatever the hell that is supposed to mean. 

Resting my forehead in my hand, I groan and say, “My lady, please. Let Ferdinand go alone to pointless parties like this. Isn’t that the whole purpose of him: to be a weapon of good cheer we can throw at our enemies to charm them into doing our bidding? My purpose is to put a knife to their throats if charm doesn’t work. And a ball does not seem a suitable venue for utilizing that skill.”

“The people love you, Hubie. They’ll be happy to see you there,” Dorothea says.

“What people? Who are these people? I dare you to produce a single one,” I fire back.

“Me,” Ferdinand says, walking out onto the dining patio after going back into the café’s interior to get fresh cups of coffee for he and I and yet another round of champagne flutes for Edelgard and Dorothea. It is specifically the kind of thing that one pays a waiter to do, but Ferdinand seems to forget that fact when we are at our favorite café and just wanders over to the counter to pour himself a refill of coffee and make small talk with the owner, Ander.

“I, Ferdinand von Aegir, adore Minister Vestra. I am his most devoted fan,” he continues as he sits down and doles out our beverages. “And I would be delighted to see him attend the Ambassador’s Ball.”

I shoot him a scowl but he just gives me an innocent smile and nicks a piece of bacon off of my plate. 

When I give Edelgard one last beseeching look and see that it has no effect on her, I know my fate is sealed and there is nothing I can do at this point but approach it with some modicum of dignity. Besides, a meal in a common little streetside café like this is a luxury for Edelgard and I do not wish to ruin it with complaining. 

Ferdinand presents some new topic of conversation – a conciliatory gesture, no doubt – and I busy myself with eating my omelette in silence and keeping an eye on the street. I have people stationed in a wide radius around us, on vigilant alert to threats and carefully tapping anyone who lingers for a second too long and telling them to move along. Even though Edelgard has her distinctive white hair hidden under a headscarf and is dressed in plain clothes, if someone were to look closely they could tell it is her. 

I have paid off Ander handsomely to remain discreet about Edelgard’s occasional visits even though the boast that the emperor likes his scones would drive his business through the roof. Maybe he doesn’t want his café overrun by sycophants, or maybe he simply considers it compliment enough that when the emperor leaves the security of the palace in disguise it is to come to his humble establishment.

After brunch (ugh, such a ridiculous word) the four of us take a carriage back to our flat to spend a little more time together before the work we have to do, even on a Sunday morning, drags us apart. But as Ferdinand and Edelgard walk towards the living room, arguing about something in a way that is friendly enough I don’t yet need to intervene, Dorothea takes my arm and holds me back in the entryway.

“Hubie,” she says. “ _Hubie_.”

I regard her with an unyielding frown in hopes it causes her to let go of my arm and stop talking to me in that tone she gets when she’s tipsy where everything is over-emphasized in a conspiratorial whisper as if each word she utters is of tremendous importance. I am, however, unsuccessful.

“I know your secret,” she continues.

“Your statement implies that I have only one, which is wildly inaccurate and therefore discredits your entire claim.”

Dorothea dismisses my comment with an annoyed little wave of her hand and leans in closer. “You can’t dance.”

“I have been trained for all the requirements of court so as to be of service to Her Highness in every context, even ones so trivial as this.”

“Just because you’ve been trained to do a box step doesn’t mean you can _dance_ ,” she replies. 

I glower down at her and she smiles up at me completely undeterred, wicked delight glittering in her green eyes. We engage in this stubborn staring match for a long moment then I break.

“Teach me,” I whisper. “And if you breathe a word of it to Ferdinand or anyone else, I will-”

“Save your threats. I’ve heard them all. Try a bribe,” she replies.

“What do you want?”

Dorothea smiles wider and suddenly produces a sheath of papers from her voluminous handbag, holding them out to me. 

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Legislation I’ve been working on drafting,” she answers. “Be a darling and pass it for me, will you, Hubie?”

“I have no hand in what proposals become policy.”

Dorothea sighs impatiently. “You’re sleeping with the Prime Minister! Of _course_ you do. That’s how politics works! Just read it over.”

I glance at the first page and see that it is in regards to foreign exchange student visas. It looks quite interesting, actually. I flip the page over and read the other side.

“This is a worthy topic, but it is not as urgent and pressing as the others on Ferdinand’s desk right now. I will advocate for him to address it but not at the moment. I’m sorry,” I reply, for there is no use in getting Dorothea’s hopes up. 

“You know, Ferdie _loves_ to dance. You _know_ how he won’t take no for an answer,” she goads. “He will make you dance with him and if you trod all over his feet-”

“Enough,” I give in. “I’ll have him read the draft over this week. Now shall we say tomorrow morning for the lesson? My office? At ten?” 

Her intoxicated tone vanishes with the flip of a switch as she says with perfect articulateness, “Excellent. Pleasure doing business with you.” 

She hangs up her coat and heads towards the living room where it sounds like Ferdinand and Edelgard are still arguing.

“Wait a minute,” I say, setting the bundle of papers down on the side table and catching up to Dorothea. “Did you just have those on hand waiting for a moment to spring them on me?”

She scoffs. “Give me more credit than that! I’m the one who convinced Edie it was a good idea to send you with Ferdie to the ball. I knew then that you’d come to me for help with dancing and I’d have my shot at getting a favor out of you.”

We step into the living room before I can reply and Ferdinand looks over at us, a perfect picture of shining righteous indignation. “Hubert!” he implores. “Dorothea! You must talk Edelgard out of this treaty with-”

“Ferdie! We said no work!” Dorothea cries, sweeping over to grab his hands and pull him towards the pianoforte. “You cannot desecrate the sacredness of Sunday morning brunch with politics!”

I snort a quiet laugh at her hypocrisy and Dorothea shoots me a look over her shoulder before glancing back at Ferdinand with a smile. “Have you been practicing our duet?”

I take a seat by Edelgard on the sofa and she yawns, untying the scarf from her hair and tugging it off. With a sleepy hum, she leans her head on my shoulder and says, “You must bring me some more of Ander’s scones sometime. They’re better than anything in the palace.”

“I’ve attempted to hire him to be the palace chef but he refuses to leave his family business,” I answer.

“People are so sentimental,” she murmurs with another yawn. 

“Indeed. It’s absurd,” I reply, taking the blanket hanging over the back of the sofa and gently draping it across her. She closes her eyes, listening peacefully to the sound of Ferdinand and Dorothea playing and singing together. But as I listen, my mind drifts to contemplating our current policies on foreign exchange student visas and how they can be improved, since that is the cost of a dance lesson.

* * *

I train for two weeks with Dorothea, who to her credit is exceptionally patient with me. Despite her quips and schemes she is a gentle soul and I am grateful for the fact whenever I step on her feet on accident and she doesn’t express any anger or resentment. Out of guilt, I buy her a new pair of dancing shoes.

And yet for all her effort and all of mine, the day of the Ambassador’s Ball finds me curled up in bed at home, shivering with fever chills. There are two stages to being sick: hoping you will survive and then beginning to hope you won’t just so you can be free of the torment of existence. I am definitively in the latter.

With a groan, I grab the pail next to the bed and try to muscle back the urge to throw up what little water and food I have managed to choke down this afternoon.

“He’s not faking it,” Linhardt assures Ferdinand. “He’s sick as a dog.”

“And there is nothing you can do to help him?” he asks.

“The potion I gave him for his fever should kick in soon. Just keep checking his temperature. If it gets to a dangerous level, send for me. Until then nothing to do but wait it out. Faith magic can patch up wounds but it can’t cure a plague in a matter of hours. He’ll be fine by morning probably.”

“What do I do if-” Ferdinand begins but Linhardt just warps away without waiting for him to finish.

Setting down the pail, I huddle up under a mountain of blankets and try to keep my teeth from chattering from the violent chills. “You’re going to be late for the ball,” I croak out. “Go.”

“And leave you to suffer alone?” Ferdinand says. “Absolutely not! I shall stay here. Aristocrats be damned.”

I am too weak to argue so I just bury my face in the pillow and groan again.

The next thing I know, I feel Ferdinand climbing under the covers and pulling me into his arms.

“Goodness gracious, it is a thousand degrees under all these blankets and you are still shivering like you are naked in Faerghus,” he says, clutching me tighter. “Let me warm you up.”

I tuck my head in the crook of his neck and take comfort in the warmth of his skin and the soothing feeling of his hands stroking my hair.

“Were you poisoned by one of your enemies or does the indomitable Hubert von Vestra get ill like the rest of us mortals sometimes?” Ferdinand teases.

“The goddess is smiting me for overthrowing her rule,” I mumble and he laughs.

“Wait,” he says after a minute. “You did not poison yourself just to get out of going to the ball, did you?”

The joke provokes my temper a bit, given how I worked so hard to prepare just so I wouldn’t embarrass him in an environment I didn’t want to be in around people I don’t give a fuck about.

“Is that what you think of me?” I snap, my tone harsher than I intend. I pull out of his arms and roll onto my other side to face away from him.

“No, it was just a foolish joke, Hubert,” he says, resting his hand on my shoulder. “I am sorry. I did not mean anything by it.”

“You should go. There is nothing to be accomplished lying here watching me be wretchedly and disgustingly ill.”

“I run the risk of spreading your illness to the whole of the court if I do. It would be more of an offense to go than to stay,” he insists. 

When I don’t argue with him again, he scoots closer and slips his arm around my waist, tugging my back to press against his chest. Nuzzling my neck, he presses kisses against my skin, despite the fact it is slicked with a cold sweat.

“You’re going to catch this illness,” I say.

“A small price to pay for sharing a bed with you, my love,” he murmurs, kissing the back of my head. “Try to get some sleep. I will keep an eye on your condition lest you worsen.”

The thought strikes me, as it has countless times over the years, that I do not deserve Ferdinand. And this time it brings with it an extra shadow of guilt because right now he should be out there sparkling under the brilliant lights of the palace ballroom, in his element, laughing, dancing, enjoying a reprieve from his work that he has earned a thousand times over. And I should be there living up to a silent promise I made to myself to earn one of those enchanting smiles myself by surprising him with a gift I will now have no opportunity to give.

Taking his hand in both of mine, I raise it to my lips and kiss it fervently. Then I close my eyes and let sleep find me as I stop shivering at last in the warmth of Ferdinand’s arms.

* * *

“Ah, my dear, you look like yourself again at last!” Ferdinand says cheerfully as I walk into the kitchen with a yawn, heading straight for the coffee pot.

“I think whatever Linhardt gave me has worked tolerably well. I feel stable again,” I say. "I cannot believe it's been four whole days. So unacceptable. The pile of work awaiting me will be daunting, to say the least."

I start to measure out the grounds but Ferdinand takes the bag of coffee grounds and the pot from me and does it for me.

“I will bring it to you in bed. Go rest some more,” he says.

“I assure you; I am feeling significantly recovered. It is you I am worried about now. Do you feel any signs of a fever? Any other symptoms?” I ask.

“No. I have an excellent constitution. Perhaps I shall not get it at all,” he replies.

I lean against the counter and yawn again, running my fingers through my hair, still wet and tangled from the bath I took upon waking to wash away the fever sweat that clung horribly to my skin.

“My dear, go back to bed. I will bring some coffee and breakfast,” Ferdinand insists, setting the coffee pot down to brew.

I study him for a moment, caught up in the details of him I have vowed to never take for granted no matter how endlessly familiar they have become – the lean, tight muscles on his broad shoulders and the line of his collarbones visible through his unbuttoned shirt; the splash of freckles across his skin and the patches of red sunburns that will turn soon into a tan; the tiny ruby earring Dorothea talked him into getting a few months ago while drunk over the damn brunch champagne; the shift of his hips as he leans his weight on his left leg to avoid pressuring the war injury in his right knee that always aches in the morning; the way the corner of his lips twitches with a smile as he realizes I am staring at him.

“Are you stuck in a fever dream, my dear, or are you truly that struck with my beauty?” he asks slyly.

I want to give him a clever retort, but words stick in my throat and my feet move of their own accord, closing the distance between us. Taking his face in my hands, I kiss him deeply and longingly.

Ferdinand pulls back with a breathy laugh and says, “I am not wasting another pot of coffee by being dragged away to bed while it goes cold and stale. Let us at least have breakfast first.”

I give in reluctantly and let go of him, but not before kissing him again.

Ferdinand walks over to the cupboard to get cups and as he busies himself pouring the coffee and assembling some fruit and pastries onto a plate, he hums the tune of a waltz and I notice his body swaying slightly with the rhythm of it. I wonder if he is thinking of the missed opportunity to dance last week and how he had been looking forward to it. I wonder if he is imagining who he would have chosen to dance with and if my name was even on the list or if he had assumed along with everyone else that I would have just said no if he asked.

On an impulse, I reach out and grab his hand, tugging him around to face me. He is holding a cup of coffee in his other hand and a bit sloshes over the side at the sudden movement, causing him to glance down at the floor in consternation and then up at me in annoyance.

“Hubert, what are you-” he begins but stops when I take the cup from him, set it to the side, then take his hand and place it on my waist.

Carefully, I pull him close – but not too close, just as Dorothea warned me – and say, “I didn’t get to dance with you. Would you do me the honor now?”

“The coffee will go cold.”

“Better to waste the coffee than to waste you,” I reply.

Ferdinand looks a bit confused but he smiles at me and as I step forward in the pattern of the waltz Dorothea taught me, he begins to hum the music again. His smile grows until his eyes are so bright with love and delight that it is hard to focus on the steps of the dance whenever my gaze meets his. Circling around the small space of the kitchen, I manage to not bump him into the counter and to keep time with the melody he is humming.

With growing confidence, I lead him out of the kitchen and to the living room where we have more space. There I spin him in a circle then guide him back to me without missing a beat of the rhythm. 

“You have been holding out on all of us for years, haven't you?” he says. “You are an excellent dancer, Hubert!”

“A recent development,” I reply then add on a whim of honesty, “I did not want to disappoint you at the Ambassador’s Ball. But the ship has sailed on that and in the end your disappointment was unavoidable. All I can promise you is that should an occasion arise again, I will dance with you the whole night to make up for all the nights I have missed.”

Ferdinand takes the lead, wrapping his arms around my neck and pulling me closer for a more intimate slow dance, too informal for a ballroom, but far more enjoyable. He rests his head on my shoulder, swaying back and forth gracefully in time to silent music, and whispers, “You are not a disappointment to me, even had you never danced with me at all. I love you.”

I kiss his forehead and say, “I love you too.”

“What did you mean by your comment earlier about not wasting me? Time with me is not a limited commodity to be wasted.”

I do not answer him for several moments, closing my eyes and focusing instead on the dance and on the cherished feeling of him in my arms. Then I say, “Everyone’s patience has a limit. I do not assume you are any different. If I demand too much of yours for too long, even if it is but to cover a slight as small as not dancing with you, it will run out.”

He stops dancing and lifts his head from my shoulder, reaching up to brush my hair out of my eyes and tucking it behind my ear. Then he cradles my cheek in his hand and stares at me questioningly. “Do you worry that I will become unhappy with you?”

“I am not a romantic man, not in the ways normal people are. I am not charming, nor lively and I am aware that sometimes in public, it is a subject of much conjecture and mystery as to how a man like me manages to hold on to one like you. I hate being the source of such questions and subjecting you to mocking for being with a dour, graceless man when you could have your pick of lovers.”

“Who are these people whispering behind our backs about such nonsense?” he says heatedly. “Tell me their names and I will give them a piece of my mind about saying such vile things about one of the most well-respected men in Adrestria!” 

“Ferdinand-”

“Anyone who questions why I love you fails to understand your character as much as they do my own and I must seek at once to remedy their ignorance,” he continues, “even if that person is you.”

I open my mouth to answer then close it when I realize I do not have the right words to address the intense look of frustration and love burning in his eyes. 

“You can sweep me off my feet across the dance floor if you wish, or you can stand at the edge of the room and not speak a word to anyone,” he says. “I will love you the same.”

I place his hand back on my shoulder and return mine to his waist, resuming our quiet waltz. “Then I will dance with you here in the mornings while the coffee brews and be my grim self in public, so long as my actions do not cause you hurt.”

“I would rather dance with you here than in a ballroom anyways,” he replies and pulls me close again. "For here, I can hold you like this without it being improper."

“Then let us cease our arguing,” I say and seal the words with a kiss. 

The tension of his riled emotions eases from his body and he relaxes under my touch, the heated look on his face fading to a soft smile once more. After a minute he begins to hum again and this time I join him, leading him around the living room as the gray dawn sunlight filtering through the curtains steadily grows brighter. By the time the warm glow of morning has filled the room, we are no longer dancing and instead are stumbling towards the sofa, hands hastily tugging aside clothes and murmured expressions of desire escaping our lips between kisses.

He ends up in my lap straddling me, hips moving against mine, the grace with which he had danced abandoned for the clumsy, frantic movements of arousal. 

“Hubert,” he says breathlessly as I tangle my fingers in his hair and kiss his neck.

“Mhm?”

“I am happier dancing with you than with anyone else.”

“I worked hard to learn how,” I say, nipping at his earlobe and playing with the tiny earring with my tongue.

“I can tell,” he says. “You show your love for me in a hundred different ways and I have never and will never doubt it. Do not doubt mine ever again.”

I stop my teasing and look up at him. “It’s not always that simple.”

“No, I do not imagine it is,” he says solemnly, leaning his forehead against mine. “And yet I ask it of you nonetheless.”

“Then I shall.”

“Thank you,” Ferdinand whispers and kisses me, his enthusiasm returning and his body pressing impatiently closer to mine.

Grabbing his waist, I lift him off of me and lay him down on his back on the sofa, climbing on top of him.

“You are never going to drink that coffee,” he says with a slight smirk.

“Damn the coffee,” I say and kiss him passionately.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. The first time they dance in public is at Edelgard and Byleth's wedding and Ferdinand cries because it is a very emotional day already and Hubert thinks dancing will cheer him up so he whisks him away to the dance floor, but that just makes Ferdinand so much more touched and happy he buries his face against Hubert's shoulder and gets tears and snot all over his finest jacket crying as they slow dance...  
> I was gonna end the fic with that but it was just... too sweet. Too soft. If there is such a thing.
> 
> (Also, as always, if you want to chat stories and Fire Emblem or simply sob about For Good, hit me up on Twitter @lalexanderwrite! I'm also always happy to take suggestions/prompts for a oneshot in this series if there's something you want to read about.)


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